


long nights, no peace

by knightswatch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Communication Failure, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, Kaiju War, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unconscious sync used to make Oikawa feel awkward, like he was losing a piece of himself in the drift and picking up too many of Iwaizumi's habits. But now, after fifteen drops (and fifteen kills), it's a comfort. It's the steady knowledge that Iwaizumi Hajime will always be someone that he can rely on, that no matter what the world throws at the two of them, they share in a piece of each other's soul.</p><p>(He hasn't said any of these things to Iwaizumi, of course.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	long nights, no peace

When Oikawa Tooru wakes to flashing lights and blaring alarms above his bunk in the middle of the night, the feeling that swoops from his stomach down to his toes isn't fear. It's a rush of adrenaline, a potent cocktail of hormones that makes him roll neatly from the top bunk to the floor, landing on the balls of his bare feet and stretching his arms over his head.

Sitting up on the lower bed with a groan, Iwaizumi scrubs a hand through his hair, squinting up at Oikawa with tired eyes. “Why can't they spot a damn kaiju when it's _daylight_?”

Oikawa laughs, patting the back of Iwaizumi's left shoulder, right over the black crown tattooed into his skin. Oikawa has the same mark on his right side, a memento of their first drop together in the Grand King. He lets Iwaizumi shuffle past him in the limited space of their room, pulling a shirt over his head. “Don't be such a downer, Iwa-chan! It's a good day to save the world.”

“You always say that,” Iwaizumi chuckles, pulling his shirt and jacket on as well. Next, are boots, half-laced on both of their feet, enough to get them from one place to another.

It's less than ten minutes between the time Oikawa opened his eyes and standing in the elevator, suits on and helmets under their arms. They're practiced at this, even if Iwaizumi is still pinching the bridge of his nose and trying not to _yawn_ while the elevator lifts them up to the piloting deck.

Overhead, the voice of Yahaba Shigeru is clipped and clear. “Good morning, boys. I trust you had plenty of sleep?”

There's a pause, even though they can't actually answer back until their helmets are on, and Iwaizumi pulls a small smile at Yahaba's characteristic sarcasm. “Well, I know _I_ did. You're taking care of a category two kaiju this morning, codename is… Junkrat. Which is why from now on _I'm_ naming these damn things and Kyoutani is going to _stay in his lab_.”

Oikawa muffles laughter behind his hand as their elevator finally reaches the top, the doors sliding open with a screech of exposed metal. He and Iwaizumi walk with matching strides across the even steel decks, stopping in front of the technicians and placing their helmets on.

The unconscious sync used to make Oikawa feel awkward like he was losing a piece of himself in the drift and picking up too many of Iwaizumi's habits. But now, after fifteen drops (and fifteen kills), it's a comfort. It's the steady knowledge that Iwaizumi Hajime will always be someone that he can rely on, that no matter what the world throws at the two of them, they share in a piece of each other's soul.

(He hasn't said any of these things to Iwaizumi, of course.)

They step inside the cockpit of the Grand King, suits fully functioning and Yahaba's voice now crisp in Oikawa's ear. “This shouldn't be too much trouble for the two of you but we did wake up a backup team in case Junkrat-san gets inside the miracle mile.”

“We'll take care of it,” Iwaizumi hums, releasing the button for the communications and giving Oikawa a little nod. “Ready for the drop?”

“Always.” Oikawa flashes him a flawless smile, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Then, just as he always does, Oikawa punches Iwaizumi's left shoulder with a nod. “I believe in you.”

Iwaizumi doesn't answer, he never does. It's okay, Oikawa knows anyway. It's part of their routine. He lifts a hand once they're properly strapped in to the enormous steel frame of the jaeger, pressing the comm button once more. “Grand King, ready for the big drop.”

“Initiating neural handshake,” Yahaba responds, quick and easy. Oikawa can feel it, and his eyes go from being open to snapping shut, the rush of memories flickering across the surface of his brain at a pace that would feel like drowning if he didn't simply let the current of them carry him forward. He knows them so well by now, he barely needs to look.

Iwaizumi celebrating a birthday with his family, Iwaizumi rooting in the dirt for beetles, Iwaizumi spiking a volleyball for the first time, the first day the two of them set foot in the Ranger cadet program, the first time they met. Everything comes in a rush, and Oikawa lets it pass by him. He's too experienced to try and chase the rabbit, even when his own distinct memories start to mix in with Iwaizumi's.

After a moment that feels like it could have stretched for years, he blinks his eyes open again, flexing his fingers to reorient himself. Next to him, he can feel Iwaizumi doing the same, the motion mirrored in his other hand.

“Okay, handshake established and holding strong. Please go kill a kaiju for me.” Oikawa can picture the way Yahaba flashes just a tiny grin when he says it, and he looks over at Iwaizumi with a nod and a smile on his face.

They finish the calibration of mind to machine, making the giant metal hands of Grand King clap together before it's hitched to the helicopters and carried out into the bay.

* * * 

Kageyama Tobio, a second-year pilot cadet, is a prodigy. It would be hard to miss. His fighting is quick, efficient, merciless even against other cadets.

Oikawa hates him, more than just a little bit. It's hard not to, even though as a Ranger and an instructor, he's supposed to be _above_ that kind of pettiness. But… for someone so _perfect_ on paper, with his high simulator scores and combat proficiency, Kageyama Tobio creates a rift for himself, a space that he can't seem to cross no matter how hard he tries.

He can't drift with anyone, it seems. None of the partners that Oikawa has put him with have managed to establish a full neural handshake with the young cadet, and it's _obvious_ how much it's frustrating him.

In a strange peek back into his own youth (which is not so long gone, being that he's only twenty-two, compared to the twenty of the second-year cadets), he catches Kageyama working his way through forms well after the kwoon room is supposed to be closed. Oikawa stands in the door, hands on his hips, watching until Kageyama detaches from his practice long enough to notice him. He snaps to attention, fumbling the staff out of his own hand in his haste to bow. “O- Oikawa-san.”

“You're done for the night, Tobio-chan. Why don't you go join the other cadets for dinner?” He raises both eyebrows, surprised when Kageyama doesn't leap to obey him. He hesitates instead, looking down at his feet.

“Is—is it true? That you can drift with anybody?” He lifts his head when he actually manages to ask his question and Oikawa leans back on his heels, surprised, before nodding his head.

“Everyone I've ever tried with! I'm the best here at drifting.” He doesn't bother faking modesty, especially for Kageyama's benefit. Kageyama's shoulders flinch inwards.

“Could you teach me how?” He's gripping his hands into his fists, and Oikawa frowns at that. “I don't know why no one else can work with me—“

“ _That_ is your problem right there, Tobio-chan,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “You don't understand what drifting is _about_.”

“It's about sharing the neural load of the jaeger so it can be used to fight against kaiju.” Kageyama delivers the answer in a tone that seems practiced but his brow wrinkles in confusion, like he's not sure what else Oikawa could _possibly_ mean.

“You're wrong,” Oikawa supplies, not quite helpfully. “That's why you can't drift with anyone. You might understand the science, and what we use it to _do_ , but you don't understand what it's about.”

He strides away, ignoring the frustrated sigh of Kageyama behind him, focusing instead on the click of his boots on the steel floors of the Shatterdome.

* * * 

Being the most famous Ranger team in Japan means that he and Iwaizumi have to do more than simply hide out in the base and kill kaiju when they appear.

Interviews have _always_ made Iwaizumi nervous. He's not used to having to conduct himself with so many eyes watching, and now he's sitting backstage with Oikawa, tapping his fingers nervously on his leg and waiting for their time to start.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chides him softly, and Iwaizumi's fingers twitch before he makes himself stop, looking up with a frown on his face. “ _Relax_. They aren't putting us on trial.”

“Feels like it,” he gripes, curling his hand into a loose fist. “I hate doing these stupid talk shows.”

“They're good for the program, and they make people feel safer,” he leans closer, closing his hand over Iwaizumi's fist and giving it a squeeze. “We're their first line of defense, it makes sense that they want to see us.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi turns his face away slightly, shaking his head before laughing. “This still doesn't get to you?”

“Mmm, not really,” he pulls his hand back, only a little reluctant to give up the contact, shrugging his shoulders. “But some of us are just made for being in the spotlight.”

“Don't be an ass,” Iwaizumi huffs. “I feel stupid, I never know what to say when they ask me things.”

“You're just supposed to tell them what they wanna hear, I guess.” Oikawa doesn't realize how bad that sounds until he's already spoken, and Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “That you're keeping them safe, that you and I are doing fine, that you love waking up every day and kicking kaiju ass.”

“And what about when they ask about The Breach? What about when they ask if we have a _solution_?” 

“Daytime television is hardly the place for you and me to be talking about it,” Oikawa runs his fingers through his hair with a small sigh, sliding his hand to rub the back of his neck as well. “The best we can do is tell them that we're working on it. That's why we have Shinji-chan and Kyoken-chan and their teams.”

Iwaizumi sinks back into tapping his fingers nervously, but he nods his head. “Right.”

“Are you saying that you think I'm _right_ about something, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa gasps, pressing a hand to his mouth; Iwaizumi looks at him with a savage glare.

“Not on your _life_ , you shitty bastard.”

When they walk out onto the stage, steps in sync, Oikawa is grinning.

* * * 

It's late, and Oikawa is awake without any alarms blaring or lights flashing overhead. He's awake because he had a dream of screeching metal and the wretched, acidic stench of kaiju blue and water filling up his lungs and choking him.

Except, in the dream he wasn't himself. He was Iwaizumi, sinking into the water, the last face he saw was his own. Oikawa rolls over so he's facing the wall, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and trying to will his heartbeat to slow. Sometimes, though, it doesn't matter what's just a dream.

Iwaizumi wakes up anyway, and he moves almost like he's in a daze, without a yawn or a groan he climbs into the top bunk instead, fitting himself under Oikawa's blanket, an arm ending up draped heavy and lazy over his waist.

“Wanna talk about it?” He says, quietly, his voice a warm touch of breath against the downy hairs at the nape of Oikawa's neck. And for a long moment, Oikawa is silent, considering.

“I had a dream that you drowned.” There isn't a point in lying about it, at least to Iwaizumi who spends half his time in Oikawa's head anyway. Iwaizumi nods, and it feels _almost_ like the bridge of his nose nuzzling Oikawa's shoulder. “Only I was in your body. I saw my face when you sank.”

Iwaizumi is quiet in return, and Oikawa tries not to begrudge him that. Sometimes, they get so used to the drift joining them that neither of them knows what to say. Oikawa isn't sure what would even make him feel better. It's not as if Iwaizumi can tell him that's _never going to happen_.

Perhaps, a dozen missions ago, Oikawa would have wanted to hear that.

“Do you remember,” Iwaizumi starts, then chuckles tiredly at his own question. Nostalgia sits in a funny place in Oikawa's chest, but for the moment he holds his tongue, curious. “When we were kids and we could never decide if Godzilla or aliens were better?”

“Yeah. Our first day at the academy you said it was a tie since we got to fight both,” Oikawa smiles, turning to press his face a little more into the pillow. The reminder isn't unwelcome, even if their own childish assumptions feel far, far away.

Quiet settles between them softly, like the warm pressure of the blanket, or Iwaizumi's fingers curling to lightly hold the fabric of Oikawa's shirt. It takes time, but eventually Oikawa falls asleep like that once more, listening to the slow, steady breathing of Iwaizumi behind him.

* * * 

“How does it feel to have the most completed missions in base history?” Oikawa asks, taking a seat next to Iwaizumi with a bright grin on his face. Iwaizumi huffs, setting the biscuit in his hand down and shrugging his shoulders.

“You know it's not about _numbers_ , it's about _helping people_ ,” Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows, and Oikawa presses an offended hand to his chest.

“How does it feel to have helped the _most people_ then, Iwa-chan?” He asks instead, grinning when Hanamaki, sitting two spaces down, starts snickering. Iwaizumi smiles, slow but genuine.

“Pretty good.” He takes a bite of his food with the smile, chuckling when he swallows. “You still have a _terrible_ personality, you know.”

“You're so rude!” Oikawa huffs, descending quickly into pouting. “I'm going to find a new co-pilot.”

“Try it. There's no one else who can put up with you the way that I do,” Iwaizumi doesn't sound the least bit like he believes Oikawa, and Hanamaki _and_ Matsukawa are laughing now.

* * * 

“Okay, wait. You wanna do _what_?” Iwaizumi is blinking furiously, staring at Kyoutani who simply juts his chin up a little further, crossing his arms.

“Dissect a kaiju's main brain,” he repeats, with the same inflection as before, like they're simply not _getting_ it. Oikawa is distracted, as always, by the array of kaiju tattooed on his arms, and why a damn zoologist ended up working for the jaeger program, to begin with.

“And why are you asking _us_ about this?” Oikawa sighs. He can almost see the use of it, in understanding the kaiju and how they function, if he were thinking like a scientist whose brain has probably already been addled by exposure to kaiju blue.

“You kill'em, don't you? Just crack the skull open for me. I can work around some damage,” he shrugs. Oikawa pushes a hand back through his hair.

“Have you gotten approval for this, Kyoken-chan?” Not that Oikawa is _opposed_ to causing a little trouble. Kyoutani blinks at him before nodding, brushing his fingers over the black stripes shaved into his head.

“Y- yeah. Shi- Yahaba-san talked to the marshal for me, told him about my plan,” his eyes dart away, and Oikawa does _not_ miss the almost slip of Yahaba's given name, but he decides not to tease about it, this time. Kyoutani and Yahaba aren't a secret by any measure, as much as they seem to think that they are.

A glance at Iwaizumi confirms the tilt of a smile on his face as well, and Oikawa takes a brief moment to bask in the victory.

“If it's approved, I don't see why we can't do it,” Iwaizumi shrugs, uncrossing his arms now. “Shouldn't be too hard to crack it open without _totally_ destroying the brain inside.”

“All settled then. Does Shi-chan still have you banished to your lab?” Oikawa grins when Kyoutani's ears light up pink, shaking his head hard.

“N- no! He's not in charge of me, anyway. He's just being a pain in the ass,” Kyoutani grumbles the last bit, and even if it piques Oikawa's passion for Shatterdome gossip, Iwaizumi doesn't share in it and instead claps Kyoutani firmly on the shoulder before turning to leave.

“Keep the good work up, yeah? I don't wanna be fighting these things for the rest of my life.”

The praise flusters Kyoutani, and Oikawa tries not to laugh as they go, shaking his head.

* * * 

The Grand King is a mark four jaeger, hulking and heavy, painted with teal and silver courtesy of Oikawa's request. It's the second mark four of Japanese design and construction, and unlike the others, it's built more for strength than speed. Close combat specialized, the Grand King is known for fighting with the same judo style that once almost earned Iwaizumi a national title.

But, like any machine, the true strength of the Grand King is in its pilots. 

Oikawa has stood in the connpod of the Grand King for more than just a dozen missions. It was still in construction when he and Iwaizumi were undergoing cadet training in the Shatterdome, and the two of them would sit and watch it be built while they ate meals, sharing a dream of the moment they might step inside to pilot it.

The reality of piloting is hardly a dream. Beneath Oikawa’s feet, the machinery that makes the Grand King function screeches as the kaiju tries again to pierce claws through its chest. There’s a pain in his right arm when they rock backward to avoid it, gathering strength and force to throw another punch at the monster in front of them.

“Prepare elbow thrusters,” Iwaizumi’s voice is sharp and clear over the din in Oikawa’s ears, the adrenaline-fueled throbbing of his own heart. It echoes in his head as if the thought was his own, and maybe it was; when they fight it’s always so hard to tell where things begin and where they end.

The command is easy to comply with, and Oikawa barely reads the confirmation on their loadout before he swings his arm forward, the harness that allows the jaeger to read his movements offering resistance. It’s not enough to rob him of force, he’s trained too long and fought too hard for that, and the blow makes the kaiju in front of them stagger.

Baba Yaga, Yahaba had called it. It fits the twisted, squat monster in front of them, with feet that _could_ remind Oikawa of a chicken, if he squints hard enough. Baba Yaga screeches, lowering its massive head to charge forward again, thin legs cutting more efficiently through the water.

But the Grand King was built for this kind of close combat, and together Oikawa and Iwaizumi dig their heels in, arms wrapping around the back of Baba Yaga and using the force of its charge to roll it to the side, landing on its back in the water.

“Deploy chain sword,” Oikawa calls, his voice undercut by Iwaizumi’s. He thinks he might hear the sound of Yahaba drawing in a sharp breath like he’s preparing to say something…

There’s a shudder of force from their back, and the Grand King staggers, unable to support the sudden weight bearing down on it. Metal screeches and the loadout in front of Oikawa is blaring alerts about the hull on their back being pierced.

“Shit! It’s on our back,” Iwaizumi growls, whipping his head like he’ll somehow be able to see Baba Yaga tackling them into the ocean.

Yahaba must recover from his shock because he finally finds his voice again. “Grand King, don’t be scared to deploy escape pods if you’re in trouble. Tacit Ronin is deployed and ready to serve as your backup.”

Oikawa grits his teeth together, the display being swallowed up by seawater as Baba Yaga manages to knock the Grand King onto its front and uses its beak-like face to rip at the back of them. “LOCCENT, if we can flip ourselves back over we can take it out.”

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi barks, glaring at him. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“We can do this!” He’s shaking and he knows Iwaizumi can tell, but what they’re doing has _always_ been a risk to their lives and he can’t be afraid of that now. “We can do it. I know we can.”

“Hull damage approaching critical,” the operating voice of the Grand King breaks in politely.

“We need to do a full burn, try and get upright again. If we can knock it off I know we can finish it off.”

Iwaizumi, for a single heartbeat, hesitates.

“Alright,” he says simply, placing his finger on the switch. “I believe in you.”

“Initiating full burn,” Oikawa commands, and the water beneath them boils as nuclear energy is released from the power supply of the Grand King into the water, the thrust of it forcing the chest up despite the weight of the kaiju pinning them down.

It’s enough for both of them to push a hand into the sliding sand of the shallows, to shove until they manage to shake free, throwing Baga Yaga to the side. The kaiju screams, grabbing onto the Grand King’s right arm and twisting, claws digging in with enough force to shred the metal appendage from the body of the jaeger.

Oikawa screams, pain making his vision shimmer with black dots. He thinks that maybe he can hear Iwaizumi shouting, but it’s distant and his mouth tastes like blood and everything around him is so hard to focus on.

“Grand King, you’re going out of alignment,” Yahaba sounds panicked, which Oikawa _knows_ is unusual, but his brain feels fuzzy, and the cool blue immersion of the drift isn’t enough to separate him from the pain.

“I think Oikawa might be going into shock.” Iwaizumi’s voice is shaking, and Oikawa blinks his eyes, not sure if they were open or closed, to begin with. “We lost our right arm, his might be broken.”

“Get _out_ of there!” Yahaba snaps, before exhaling quickly. “Tacit Ronin deploy for assistance, your main directive is to protect Grand King and dispatch the kaiju.”

“Roger,” Matsukawa’s voice is low, a rumble, and thank god it doesn’t sound like fear too. It’s surrounding Oikawa, rebounding across their connection. 

“Oikawa. Shit, Oikawa! I need you to focus now, okay? Can you just concentrate on my voice?”

Oikawa peels his eyes open again and stares over at Iwaizumi with a nod, wondering why there’s blood on his face. Seeing his eyes, Iwaizumi breathes out a sigh of relief that Oikawa can feel in his own lungs. “We’re not out of alignment yet but I need you to stay in the drift. They’re sending in Makki and Mattsun to help us.”

Iwaizumi snaps his attention to their front again, raising his arm to block another stab from Baba Yaga, and out of reflex, Oikawa tries to lift his arm to complete the block on the right side. Pain sears up his arm when it fails to obey his will and he finds himself sobbing at it.

“Calvary is two minutes out, Grand King. Hold on for me.” Yahaba’s voice is back to calm and clear.

“Roger that,” Iwaizumi responds, even though he’s gritting it from between his teeth. Oikawa focuses his attention on the drift as best he can, letting the memories wash over him. He feels sharper, if only slightly.

“Iwa-chan. Next time it rears back on us, stab it in the throat,” it’s hardly anything that could be called a plan, and with only one arm, their right side is totally exposed if Iwaizumi misses.

“Are you an idiot, Shittykawa? You’re barely even in the drift and we’re about to fall apart.” Still, Iwaizumi rolls his shoulder in preparation and Oikawa does the same. He’s always been good at drawing the most out of people, and right now can’t be an exception.

He’s staking both of their lives on it.

Baba Yaga reels back, preparing to strike them again, and Iwaizumi draws his arm back, Oikawa’s body mirroring his motions, legs bracing for the impact. When the kaiju lunges, Iwaizumi does as well, and Baba Yaga screams as the chain sword attached to the arm of the Grand King pierces through its throat, the sound petering off into a gurgle. Iwaizumi swings his arm sideways, leaving an open gash where the throat used to be. Baba Yaga sinks into the sea, and Iwaizumi drops them to one knee.

He’s panting, they both are, and there’s the sloshing, stomping sound of Tacit Ronin approaching on their right side, still on guard.

“Not getting a signature from the kaiju,” Yahaba announces, and Oikawa lets a hysterical, pained laugh bubble out of his lips.

* * * 

Training cadets with his arm in a sling, Oikawa finds out, is hard. He’s used to being a much more active instructor, not one with a broken collarbone and a mild concussion. It takes several days until Kiyoko, the Shatterdome’s doctor, clears him to return to teaching; before that he was confined mostly to his bunk, bored, in the dark.

Worse is they way that the cadets stare at him while trying not to get caught. He notes Kunimi elbowing Kindaichi more than once to get him to _stop_.

Three days after his triumphant return to teaching, Oikawa looks at them with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. He reaches with his left arm, unbuckling the sling and letting his arm slide free of it, hissing slightly between his teeth.

“I’m sure all of you know this now, but I broke my collarbone while piloting.” He means to make this speech crisp and quick. If nothing else, they can learn from him, can’t they? “And if I hadn’t been able to trust my co-pilot while I was injured, it probably would have cost both of our lives.”

“I gave the order to continue fighting when I knew the two of us were at a disadvantage, and that risk earned me a broken arm, that risk almost got my co-pilot hurt, that risk cost the program a new right arm for the Grand King,” he takes a chance to scan his eyes over each of them before buckling his sling back in place. “And if you aren’t willing to take risks like that, then you have no place in this program.”

It isn’t a surprise when Kageyama Tobio’s hand shoots into the air following his words. Oikawa still frowns, raising his eyebrows. “Yes, Tobio-chan?”

“At the academy, they taught us _not_ to take risks like that since it’s so hard to find pilots who can be relied upon…” he trails off, probably because Oikawa starts laughing.

“Every time you step into a jaeger, you’re taking the risk that you won’t come back,” Oikawa rolls his shoulders as well as he can. “Your duty as a pilot is risking your life to protect the people of Japan. You’re here to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

Kageyama frowns harder, his eyebrows creeping together, and his mouth in a tight line, staring down at his feet.

* * * 

This is _not_ the situation that Oikawa really wants to find himself in.

Due to their status as senior pilots, he and Iwaizumi get to share a bunk with a tiny attached bathroom, boasting a sink, a toilet, and most importantly: their own shower.

Having left his sling hanging outside on the door of the bathroom, Oikawa’s met once again with the challenge of trying to wash his hair. It was easier when he was still bedridden with the concussion, because at least then he could simply be miserable _and_ gross.

Now that he’s allowed out again, it’s really not an option.

Unfortunately, neither is reaching up for anything with his left hand. The second time he tries, the wave of pain is so heavy that it makes his stomach turn, black dots swimming over his vision, leaving him blinking and confused on the floor of the shower.

Of course, the noise makes Iwaizumi burst in, brow furrowed in concern. “What happened?”

“Slipped,” Oikawa groans, wondering how he’s supposed to pick himself up. Iwaizumi must wonder the same thing because he sighs.

“Do you need help?” He asks slowly, holding out a hand to pull Oikawa up. Oikawa wrinkles his nose, glad he’s not so shy that standing naked in front of Iwaizumi with water running down his back and a bruise probably forming on his ass is _embarassing_.

His face is red from the heat, is all.

“I gotta wash my hair,” he admits, softly, because the idea of asking for help with something so stupid doesn’t sit well with him. Iwaizumi grunts before turning away and tugging his shirt off. Oikawa can’t help the fact that he’s _staring_ at the pull of the muscles along Iwaizumi’s back, the way it makes his nearly golden skin stretch along the bumps of his spine. Or at the tattoo on his left shoulder, the replica of _their_ logo printed permanently into his skin…

“W- what are you doing?” Oikawa mentally curses at the crack in his voice, and Iwaizumi glances over his shoulder with a roll of his eyes, shoving his pants down now as well. And Oikawa needs to _immediately_ stop watching what he’s doing, or this is all going to get extremely awkward.

“Helping you wash your hair. I’m not getting my clothes all wet,” Iwaizumi snorts, stepping out of his bunched up pants, boxers left behind as well apparently. Oikawa stands frozen, not sure how to take this situation and Iwaizumi grunts at him. “Move over.”

He steps into the stall of the shower as well, and suddenly it feels cramped. He has to reach past Oikawa to grab the shampoo, leaning close enough that heat radiates off his skin against the dampness of Oikawa’s own. Oikawa clears his throat, shuffling to make enough space, hoping his voice doesn’t crack again. “You’re sure you can reach, right?”

“Keep talking and I’ll drown you,” Iwaizumi responds without a beat missed. He does have to reach up to dig his fingers into Oikawa’s hair, but the touch is surprisingly… soft. Tender, almost, with the way he scrubs shampoo along Oikawa’s scalp with the blunt ends of his fingers. Oikawa is left with only the option to do his best not to _melt_ into the contact, eyes closing as Iwaizumi continues massaging his head.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Iwaizumi grumbles, but there’s laughter underneath it, enough to make Oikawa crack his eyes open and peer back to see the grin sitting crooked on Iwaizumi’s face. “I’m spoiling you. You’ll start expecting it.”

“Of course, Iwa-chan should be taking care of me while I’m injured,” Oikawa responds as archly as he can manage, what with the manic fluttering of his heart in his chest. He’s tall, but the fact that he’s leaning back and has his right arm totally slack means that some water has escaped past him and winds up carving trails down the bare skin of Iwaizumi’s chest.

After another moment, Iwaizumi taps one sudsy hand on his good shoulder. “Okay. Rinse.”

Oikawa hums in response, closing his eyes again and bending his head forward, using his left hand to clean the shampoo out of his hair. He expects Iwaizumi to be gone again when he lifts his head. Instead, he glances behind himself to find Iwaizumi already squeezing too much conditioner into one of his palms.

“Iwa-chan _is_ spoiling me,” Oikawa coos, only just managing to keep himself from groaning when Iwaizumi’s hands stroke through his hair again. It feels _nice_ , far nicer than it has any right to, and there’s an empty pit of hunger in his stomach confirming what Oikawa already knows.

Whenever something like this happens, it only makes him want _more_ of Iwaizumi. Far more than what belongs to him.

It’s probably part of Oikawa’s imagination that Iwaizumi takes his time in conditioning Oikawa’s hair, letting him lean back further and further until most of his weight is leaning on Iwaizumi’s chest anyway. Rather than scolding him like usual, one of Iwaizumi’s hands runs down his back. “Okay, you’re set.”

Oikawa is trying his best not to shiver. Iwaizumi’s hand is resting on his side, light and thoughtless, and before Oikawa ducks his head into the spray again, he decides to take a chance. “If you’re going to be feeling me up you might as well rub my back, Iwa-chan.”

“So spoiled,” Iwaizumi chuckles again, but to Oikawa’s surprise, both his thumbs dig into the small of his back, on either side of his spine, rolling firmly there. Oikawa, helplessly, lets out a tiny, contented sigh before rinsing his hair out once more. Iwaizumi’s hands slide up his back, applying firm pressure to his muscles, easing them into relaxing.

By the time Oikawa dubs himself clean, he’s ready for a cigarette and a nap. He also absolutely _cannot_ turn around to thank Iwaizumi properly for the rare moment of pampering.

Iwaizumi coughs, pulling his hands back suddenly and stepping out of the shower. He grabs one of the dark gray towels hanging on the rack attached to the door, wrapping it around his waist before making his way out. “Don’t fall again.”

* * * 

The mouth on his skin is so hot that it's near burning, and Oikawa is trying not to shudder because compared to the heavy, pleasurable burn that goes all the way to his bones, the heat of Iwaizumi's mouth is no burden at all.

Iwaizumi has one of those pleased little grins on his face, the palm of his hand pressed against Oikawa's stomach. “Feel that?”

His voice is practically sex on its own, low and husky, dragging over every note that falls on Oikawa's ear…

And then, of course, Oikawa opens his eyes. He's staring at the ceiling over his bunk, sweating, tangled up in too many blankets with a mess he absolutely doesn't want to think too hard about cooling in his boxers.

Oikawa turns his head, muffling a groan into his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut again. He's too old to still be having dreams like this. 

The fact that Iwaizumi is in them doesn't mean all that much, Oikawa figures. Drifting together means that they have a deeper connection, that the two of them are _joined_. Wiggling to the side, he snatches his phone from the pillow, blinking as the light from the screen illuminates his face.

 **To: makki-chan**  
_ >>you have dreams about Mattsun, right?_ (3:45)

 **From: makki-chan**  
_ >>the fuck are you awake for_ (3:47)

 **To: makki-chan**  
_ >>not drift echoes, like… dreams_ (3:47)

 **From: makki-chan**  
_ >>are you asking me what I think you are_ (3:50)

 **To: makki-chan**  
_ >>no_ (3:50)

 **To: makki-chan**  
_ >>maybe_ (3:50)

 **From: makki-chan**  
_ >>I'm pretty sure wet dreams aren't a side effect of drifting_ (3:52)

 **To: makki-chan**  
_ >>that doesn't answer my question!!!_ (3:53)

Hanamaki doesn't text back after that, and Oikawa elects to believe he's fallen asleep. He rolls himself gingerly out of bed to change into clean pajamas and goes back to trying to find a way to lay in bed that doesn't make his shoulder ache.

* * * 

“They're testing you with another co-pilot? It's only been a month!” Yelling at Iwaizumi for a choice he probably wasn't even a part of isn't entirely fair, but Oikawa can't make himself stop, either.

Iwaizumi sighs, shrugging his shoulder. “It's just a candidate, all we're doing is seeing if we _can_ drift.”

Oikawa grits his teeth together to keep himself from screaming. There's no reason to test Iwaizumi with anyone else. It's not as if Oikawa is _dead_. He could be cleared again in two weeks, and Tacit Ronin has handled all the kaiju that have emerged from the breach since his injury. 

For all his talk of taking risks, Oikawa isn’t sure if he’s ready to see anyone _else_ take them with Iwaizumi’s life.

“I don’t like it,” he huffs. “I’ll be fine again in a few weeks, so I don’t see why they even _need_ to do something like this in the first place.”

“We can’t afford to just be down a team, Oikawa! We don’t even know if they’ll clear you right away,” Iwaizumi sighs, rolling his eyes at Oikawa’s dramatics. “It’s one of your cadets, anyways.”

“I’ll just tell them that Kindaichi-chan isn’t ready!” He tosses his hand up in the air, the other still held snug in the sling that’s only growing more and more annoying by the day. He whips on his heel toward the door, reaching for it only to find Iwaizumi stepping in his way, a scowl on his face.

“You’re not doing that.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Oikawa stands still to fume at him. Mostly because Iwaizumi is _right_ , and he’s angry about it. They’re here for the greater good, the two of them, and Oikawa hasn’t forgotten that. Even with his selfish nature, he can’t forget that they’re fighting a _war_.

He couldn’t take the chance from Kindaichi, either. Not after the kid asked Iwaizumi for his _autograph_ on his first day. Oikawa sighs, his shoulders slumping. “No, I’m not.”

“Just focus on getting better,” Iwaizumi quirks a little smile at him before shuffling him out of the way of the door. Oikawa chews his tongue in silence, wondering when he started getting _scared_ of where conversations with Iwaizumi might lead.

It’s not that the idea of fighting with Iwaizumi that scares him. They’ve been doing that since they were children and it’s never changed the nature of their relationship. This is a different kind of fear like he’s scared of pushing too hard because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say anymore.

He’s been spoiled by the drift, they both have. They’ve come to understand each other without words, with only nods and soft touches and a constant thread that holds their minds together as one. Without that, Oikawa feels like everything is suddenly different. Like they’ve forgotten some part of the language they used to speak to one another with. Shriveled and gone due to disuse.

Alone, Oikawa falls back onto Iwaizumi’s bed and uses his good arm to pull the pillow against his chest, crushing his face into it. It smells like Iwaizumi’s shampoo, and Oikawa lets himself dwell in the familiar scent.

He’s never said that he’s in love with Iwaizumi. Not in words. But he’s known it for a long time, even before they arrived for their first day at the jaeger academy. It’s never been something that he _had_ to say. He and Iwaizumi were always going to be by each other’s sides--the details of their relationship didn’t matter as much as that simple fact.

But now… 

Oikawa isn’t used to being on unsteady ground where Iwaizumi is concerned.

* * * 

It turns out that Iwaizumi’s wish for a daylight kaiju attack is easier to grant than Oikawa would have thought.

It’s probably not his imagination that they’re coming more frequently now; it seems like they rarely have more than a few days between attacks and because of it, there're more jaegers in repair than usual.

Tacit Ronin has hull damage badly enough that it can’t leave the hanger to kill the category three that climbs its way out of the breach, and that leaves Nova Hyperion as their next team to fight.

Nova Hyperion, piloted by Iwaizumi Hajime and Kindaichi Yuutarou.

Oikawa makes a nuisance of himself on the bridge, standing next to Yahaba while he runs them through the neural handshake. It’s Kindaichi’s first ever drop, and Oikawa should be glad that he’s making it with one of the most experienced pilots on the base.

He should be glad that one of his cadets is there with Iwaizumi. Someone he’s trained, someone he can _trust_.

And yet, he’s staring at the tiniest details of the LOCCENT, fingers drumming restlessly, wishing he were by Iwaizumi’s side, where he belongs. Next to him, Yahaba sighs and bats his hand away with a sour look on his face. “You don’t need to be here, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa glares at him in return. “Where else would I be?”

“Your room, the mess hall, whatever hole Hanamaki and Matsukawa scurry off to whenever they aren’t getting called to fight,” Yahaba shrugs his shoulders, turning back to the readout, narrowing his eyes at it before pressing the comm button. “Alright, Nova Hyperion. You’re about two minutes out from your target. Cat three, codename is Bristleback.”

“I see you’re letting Kyoken-chan name things again,” Oikawa observes with a grin. Yahaba does not look nearly as entertained. He presses the button again.

“Bring us home a win, boys.”

* * * 

It’s a good fight.

Oikawa ducks out of the bridge before the choppers make it out to pick Nova Hyperion up, swallowing down bile at the back of his throat.

It was a _good_ fight. Less risk, no serious damage to the jaeger. Kindaichi must have been following Iwaizumi’s lead since they focused on turning Bristleback’s offense against him.

He doesn’t want to stick around for the resetting of the clock, or to be a part of everyone congratulating a new team on their victory. He’ll have to, sooner rather than later, since Kindaichi is his cadet.

Except, Kindaichi is a ranger now.

Oikawa can’t stand the idea of keeping himself cooped up in the Shatterdome, so he tosses on one of the bomber jackets hanging in their room, the ones with the logo of the Grand King embroidered across the back, and makes his way out to Tokyo instead.

He doesn’t spend a lot of time out in the city. Really, he’s usually so focused on work that he hasn’t seen the _point_ of going to explore or sightsee. It’s not as if the city is remarkable anymore. It’s like most cities; littered with bones and full of scared people, especially right after an attack.

Or at least, that’s what he expects.

People are in the streets celebrating Nova Hyperion’s victory. There’s shouting all around him, children with Grand King dolls clutched in their hands (even though he wasn’t involved in the fight; he supposes there're no toys of Nova Hyperion. Yet, at least.)

No one recognizes him, but then, he supposes no one is _looking_ for him. He’s not much of the rockstar pilot Oikawa Tooru right now, with his arm in a sling and tears pooling thick in his eyes.

Miles away, probably stepping off Nova Hyperion with his divesuit still on, Iwaizumi Hajime is still a hero. Oikawa can’t begrudge him that; it’s what they’ve both always wanted to be.

What worries him more is that Iwaizumi feels like a boat setting out to sea, and Oikawa has been left on the shore with no choice but to watch the distance between them grow.

The thought makes his stomach churn and the tears in his eyes threaten to spill over. He doesn’t want to get caught crying in public. Not after all the times that Iwaizumi has told him he’s an _ugly_ crier.

He ducks into a nearby izakaya, and it’s just his luck that the tiny television that hangs above the bar is turned to the news, a clip of the fight playing.

They’re a national pastime. Sometimes Oikawa gets so caught up in fighting the war that he forgets.

He wonders if Iwaizumi will have to do an interview with Kindaichi.

He can’t even make himself sit at the bar and order a drink. He slinks back outside and spends his time getting lost, not making his way back to the Shatterdome until the sky is mostly stars.

* * * 

Finally, finally, they clear him to pilot again.

He could have gone sooner if Kiyoko weren’t so focused on preventing more damage to his shoulder. Oikawa resists the urge to tell her that he’ll probably die before his shoulder actually gives out.

It’s something they don’t talk about much at the base. Rangers don’t live long lives.

He practically has a spring in his step when he and Iwaizumi finally step back into the Grand King. There’s no kaiju, just a test of the newly repaired right arm. He takes his spot, rolling his shoulder and giving Iwaizumi a grin.

“You must have missed having the great Oikawa-san to watch your back,” he quips, even if he means it just a little too seriously. Iwaizumi gives him a flat look.

“Yuutarou-kun is quieter,” he responds, strapping himself into his side of the machine.

Oikawa pretends that doesn’t bother him at all. Instead, he presses the comm button over his head, glad there’s no creaking feeling left in his arm when he does. “Grand King, ready to initiate neural handshake.”

“Initiating neural handshake,” Yahaba responds, and Oikawa feels the tug of the drift at the corner of his mind.

But something about it is _wrong_. The flood of memories he shares with Iwaizumi darts by him too fast, and everything is dizzying. He can’t simply relax and let them flow past him like he’s used to, and instead every clip, every shared image, catches his attention and makes the fact that he’s _surrounded_ by them bewildering and confusing.

And so he does the only thing that makes sense, despite _years_ of training that existed solely to tell him to do otherwise. Oikawa shuts his eyes and chases the rabbit.

 

The first thing he realizes is that he’s in one of Iwaizumi’s memories. He’s hovering somewhere in the back of it, unable to touch or interact with anything, forced just to watch.

They’re younger by several years, probably not even eighteen yet, and Oikawa is sitting on a dark staircase with his head buried behind his knees, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Just like that, he wants _out_ of the memory that he’s trapped himself in. This one, particularly, is a sight he doesn’t need to see again.

Behind his shoulders, the outer walls of the hospital building are bleached bone white. Iwaizumi’s footsteps on the metal stairs are loud, and maybe that’s intentional. Oikawa, the one in the memory, lifts his head up and wipes his tears away quickly, forcing a smile on his face despite the fact that there are still tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Iwa-chan!”

“Get that disgusting look off your face,” Iwaizumi growls, taking another step upward toward Oikawa with his hands balled tightly into fists. Oikawa’s smile fades, leaving him blinking owlishly at Iwaizumi. “You know you don’t have to pretend around me. I hate it.”

For a long, long moment, Oikawa doesn’t say anything at all.

“They’re both gone now,” he mumbles, finally, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. And god, the knowledge of it stings in the center of his chest _still_. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Oikawa…” Iwaizumi’s voice is soft, and because it’s _his_ memory, Oikawa can hear now the way it hitches on the syllables of his name before Iwaizumi blows out a heavy sigh. “You’ll move in with my family. We’ll take care of you.”

“W- what?” Oikawa’s voice cracks, his arms losing their purchase around his legs and dropping limply by his sides. “You don’t have to do that, Iwa-chan. I can go with my brother, or maybe to one of the shelters… I’ll figure it out.”

“Stop being an idiot!” Iwaizumi growls, leaning forward and grabbing the collar of Oikawa’s jacket in both hands. Their faces are so close together, and in Iwaizumi’s memory, his heartbeat is _loud_. “Your brother is all the way in Hong Kong, and like hell, my family is leaving you to rot in an orphanage.”

The word makes Oikawa flinch. He’s not yet used to thinking of himself as an orphan. Iwaizumi lets go of him. “You still have us, okay? I know…”

He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “I know it’s not the same, but… I’m your family too.”

Usually, Oikawa would take such a sentimental declaration as a chance to wail and throw his arms around Iwaizumi, to tease him.

But Oikawa knows what comes next here.

In the memory, he whips to his feet with the sorrow scrubbed clean from his eyes, still rimmed in red with tears threatening to spill over. He grabs hold of Iwaizumi in return, and the sound of the dog tags around his neck sounds so painfully loud. “I’m not asking for your _pity_ , Hajime.”

The shock on Iwaizumi’s face still makes Oikawa’s stomach churn. He remembers his own foolish anger, of course, he remembers his overwhelming pride, and more than even that, he remembers his _grief_. “I don’t need _you_ to baby me.”

Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa like he’s been slapped, but, steady as ever, he puts a calming hand on top of Oikawa’s. “I understand you’re going through a lot, but—”

Oikawa laughs, letting go of him and stumbling a step away, up the stairs further. “You _understand_? What makes you think you could _possibly_ understand this? What is it you’ve lost?”

“That’s not what I mean, you idiot!” Iwaizumi snarls, following Oikawa’s path up the stairs. “I’m saying I want to _help_ you!”

“I don’t _want_ your help,” Oikawa returns, quick as the crack of a whip. “I’ll take care of myself.”

In retrospect, maybe he deserves the punch that Iwaizumi aims at his jaw.

But there are hands wrapping around his shoulders, tangible and real, shaking him. Iwaizumi’s voice, when it breaks through the memory around him, is deeper and tinged with fear. “Oikawa! You need to wake up right now!”

 

Oikawa blinks twice, the world hazy and blue around him. Iwaizumi’s face is hovering a few feet away, his helmet now shed, sitting in a heap with Oikawa’s own. Iwaizumi still has the rest of his divesuit on, and when he touches Oikawa’s cheek it’s with a gloved hand. “Oikawa?”

“Hey,” Oikawa’s voice comes out in a croak. “What happened?”

“You got stuck chasing the rabbit,” Iwaizumi responds, fingers carding once through Oikawa’s hair. “You tried to punch into the bridge.”

Oikawa frowns, mostly at himself, pushing himself to sit entirely upright. He’s never chased the rabbit before.

“We couldn’t, um,” Iwaizumi’s hand is on his back, support in case Oikawa topples over again, but there’s a tightness in his voice. “We didn’t align properly.”

 _That_ has never happened before either. He stares at Iwaizumi with his lips pursed, trying to understand. Iwaizumi goes from staring him directly in the face to looking over his shoulder where Yahaba is jogging over, Marshal Ukai two steps behind him with a thundercloud on his face.

Oikawa hops up to his feet so quickly that black dots swim in his vision once again, and he wobbles slightly. Iwaizumi grabs his shoulder, growling at him. “You should _sit_ , Oikawa.”

“What happened?” Ukai looks between the two of them, an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear.

“I’m sorry Marshal, I think it was just some… lingering confusion. From the head injury,” Oikawa concocts the answer with a smile, and he can feel Iwaizumi next to him getting ready to swat him for lying to their boss. “I’m good to try again.”

Ukai narrows his eyes at them. He’s different than any other marshal that Oikawa has met— his uniform jacket is half-unbuttoned and his hair is bleached blond, held back from his face with a thin cord and shaved close to his head on the underside. He rubs his chin before turning to look over his shoulder. There are cracks in the glass windows that rim the bridge, and something drops out of Oikawa’s stomach at the sight.

“Not today,” Ukai shakes his head with the declaration, sliding his fingers back through his hair with a sigh. “No need to rush you back and risk somethin’ worse happenin’.”

“It was just—” Oikawa starts, but this time he’s cut off by Iwaizumi inclining his head and speaking over him.

“Alright. Thank you, sir.”

Ukai nods and Iwaizumi turns, marching down the hall back toward their bunk, leaving the newly rebuilt body of the Grand King behind them. Oikawa follows after him at a jog, frowning. “We _should_ be trying again!”

“I’m not risking you getting another concussion,” Iwaizumi snorts, and Oikawa opens his mouth to keep arguing, only to be stopped _again_ by Iwaizumi. “I saw the memory, you know.”

Well. That makes him stop so quickly that he nearly knocks himself over. “I didn’t know that you could see it.”

“It was the day your mom died,” Iwaizumi sighs, running his fingers back through his hair. He doesn’t turn back to face Oikawa. “We got in that fight.”

“It was stupid,” Oikawa says softly, his shoulders slumping.

“It was,” Iwaizumi chuckles, but there’s no mirth to it. “But that was the day you decided you wanted to be a ranger, too.”

It would be foolish to ask if that’s really what Iwaizumi remembers, after the hours sitting in the hospital with no news, after their fight— foolish since he _knows_ what Iwaizumi remembers. Still, he wants to ask. He wants the reassurance that he’s not crazy for clinging to those things.

“So, we couldn’t align?” He asks instead, and Iwaizumi nods his head, turning now with a sour expression on his face.

“That’s never happened to me before,” Oikawa tries to make it sound like he’s _musing_ , but Iwaizumi clearly knows him too well for that, because he simply rolls his eyes.

“I know. Don’t dwell on it too much,” he claps a hand on the back of Oikawa’s neck, squeezing slightly. “We’ll just try again, okay? It’s not like we’re broken.”

* * * 

It’s five more failed attempts at drifting before Marshal Ukai decides that they’re wasting time. Oikawa only gets more and more anxious with each failure, and it feels less and less like he knows how to _talk_ to Iwaizumi about it.

It’s their last night in their bunk together, and neither of them knows what to say. Ukai stressed over and over again that the move was _temporary_. He was only bumping Hanamaki and Matsukawa up to senior pilots until whatever was keeping them from being able to drift was solved.

Iwaizumi has run point on two more missions with Kindaichi. Oikawa has been piloting Echo Saber alongside Kuroo Tetsurou since his co-pilot is off advising some program mechanic in South America. It turns out he can drift with anyone who _isn’t_ Iwaizumi just fine.

It’s a fact that doesn’t make him feel any better.

The silence of their bunk is stretched thin, and Oikawa can feel something idiotic bubbling in the back of his throat because he can’t _stand_ it any longer.

“Well, I know I won’t miss waking up to your grouchy face every morning.” He doesn’t mean that, but the words leave his mouth in a chirp anyway. Iwaizumi raises both of his eyebrows, looking up from the screen of his computer with a blink.

“You think this is a good idea?” He sighs, and Oikawa wants to scream, because _no, no he doesn’t_. He can’t think of any point in his life where he’s actually wanted to be away from Iwaizumi.

Everything he owns is already packed into boxes. It’s a painfully familiar sight.

He doesn’t know how to answer Iwaizumi’s question, and the two of them lapse into silence again. Oikawa bites the side of his tongue, thinking, hoping he can stop himself from saying anything else ridiculous.

It doesn’t exactly work. “Are you going to curl up in bed with Kindaichi-chan if he has bad dreams?”

“Fuck off, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi snaps, and there’s no laughter to it like there usually is. “ _You_ were the one who begged me to stay with you.”

“When we were kids,” his response is haughty and he tilts his chin up. He doesn’t point out that he’s never once told Iwaizumi he _didn’t_ want him to keep doing it, even though both of them are well into their twenties now.

He has too many nightmares, still. And Iwaizumi has always been the thing that makes him feel better.

“I think he’d appreciate it if you did, since he’s _obviously_ in love with you,” Oikawa chuckles when he says it, and sort of wishes he could rip his own tongue out of his mouth. Iwaizumi stares at him for a moment before sighing and standing up, closing his laptop and shaking his head.

“I’m going for a run,” he bends over to grab his running shoes, and for a moment Oikawa considers getting up to follow him. Broken drift or not, Iwaizumi clearly still knows him. “By myself.”

“Well _I’m_ going to sleep. Try not to be too smelly when you come back.”

Really. Someone should buy him a muzzle like Iwaizumi is always threatening. The door slams shut hard enough that Oikawa flinches, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut.

He dreams of watching Iwaizumi’s jaeger sink into the sea on a television, unable to do anything about it and he wakes up trying to wipe tears off his face as quietly as he can.

Iwaizumi slides into bed behind him and doesn’t say a word, simply wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling their bodies close together. Oikawa doesn’t say anything either.

* * * 

“You remember how to do this, right?” He’s holding two lengths of black fabric in one hand and a training staff in the other. Iwaizumi, standing opposite him, nods his head.

They’re both in training gear, boots piled in the corner, and for once, Oikawa is focused enough that the way Iwaizumi’s arms look in a tank top isn’t enough to distract him. He passes one of the blindfolds over to Iwaizumi, tying the other around his own face tightly enough that he can’t see.

He doesn’t have to explain the exercise the way he does to his cadets. He shifts the staff into the proper grip through muscle memory, closing his eyes and letting himself get centered in the darkness. He can hear Iwaizumi, only a few feet away from him, doing the same. He’s adjusting his posture, Oikawa thinks, from the way his feet shuffle on the mat flooring of the room. 

They’ve fought like this dozens of times, hundreds maybe. It’s a technique to improve drift compatibility— without sight, you’re left to anticipate the moves of your opponent through sound, and through how well you know them in a fight.

He doesn’t need the whistle of a staff through the air to tell him that Iwaizumi will try to strike first. He knows it, and he shuffles out of the way, swinging his own staff out to catch the strike in a loud clack of wood, parrying it away from his body.

Without sight, he’s left to listen to Iwaizumi’s breathing, the tap of his feet on the floor, the sound of his hands sliding, changing his grip on the staff. Oikawa moves next.

In the beginning, it’s like a game of chess, the way they try to feel each other out. He swings low, towards Iwaizumi’s legs, and finds the arc of his attack blocked in the air. They clash, and Oikawa can feel the heat of Iwaizumi’s skin on his, telling him how close together they are.

Iwaizumi’s breath fans against his face and Oikawa shoves forward hard with both arms, forcing them away from each other and setting his feet firmly again. There’s blood pounding loud and vicious in his ears, and it’s more than the adrenaline of a fight.

The next strike almost manages to surprise him, he barely manages to turn his body to catch the strike, the impact of it rattling down his arms. He doesn’t have the strength to knock the blow away, an effect of Iwaizumi and his _considerable_ upper body strength, and instead, he’s forced to bend _away_ from the force, trying to slip under the blow.

It doesn’t work, and Iwaizumi’s staff manages to clip him across the back. “One to zero.”

Iwaizumi sounds smug. Oikawa huffs, retaking his stance.

This time, he moves directly for Iwaizumi in a flurry of strikes, using the repeated blows to overwhelm his ability to block without seeing them. He manages to catch Iwaizumi’s side with a firm strike that makes the breath huff out of him with a grunt. Oikawa grins. “One to one.”

There’s something… something _different_ inside the center of Oikawa’s chest. An empty space he didn’t even notice until now, with it feeling filled once again. He’s not surprised to find that he’s missed Iwaizumi— of course, he has, they’ve been together for their whole lives. Still, it comes over him so sharp and sudden that he nearly staggers mid-fight.

He wants to rip the stupid blindfold off and memorize every piece of Iwaizumi’s face. He wants the tiny favors they’ve become so used to doing for each other, he wants Iwaizumi’s breath soft on the back of his neck while he’s trying to fall asleep again after a bad dream.

The staff pokes the center of his chest, and when Iwaizumi speaks, Oikawa can _feel_ the grin on his face. “I can still tell when you’re distracted.”

“One to two,” Oikawa shoots back with a laugh, only a little bit forced. Maybe, just for once, Iwaizumi doesn’t notice it. Oikawa takes his stance once more, breathing out slowly.

They always go to four points, and Oikawa is _expecting_ to feel the moment that their connection really clicks back into place. He’s never been able to describe the sense of compatibility that he gets from Iwaizumi, the way it throbs in the center of his chest like a second heartbeat.

It doesn’t happen.

They’re both sweating when Iwaizumi scores his fourth point, and Oikawa pulls the blindfold off too quickly, blinking his eyes rapidly against the sudden brightness of the room. Iwaizumi is slower, shading his eyes to avoid the sudden blindness that Oikawa is suffering from. 

“Well?” Even hushed, his voice sounds too loud in the sudden quiet of the room. 

Iwaizumi shakes his head.

* * * 

Kuroo Tetsurou, as it turns out, sleeps like the _dead_. And so, when Oikawa is on his fourth night straight sitting up past two in the morning, staring at the latest jaeger fights from other bases, there’s no one to say anything about it.

His eyes are burning, and there’s an unpleasant sense of lightness in his head that’s usually a sign that he’s _truly_ become sleep deprived.

Senior pilot or not, Oikawa knows he needs to stay at his best. They’re still clawing out victories, even if he’s cringing his way through Coyote Tango having its connpod ripped to shreds on the scene of his tablet. 

Iwaizumi’s right, it’s not like he wants to do this for the rest of his life

Still, as tired as he is, there’s a restless itch under his skin that he knows will keep him rolling back and forth all night. Instead, he peels himself out of the bed and drops lightly to the floor, leaving the tablet behind him. He doesn’t try to move around the room quietly, seeing as Kuroo doesn’t so much as twitch for anything _but_ the proximity alarms going off.

He laces up his running shoes, tucking a jacket under his arm and ducking out to make his way to the indoor track. It’s a low priority area, so the inner doors never end up being locked, meaning it works perfectly for burning the restlessness out of Oikawa’s body.

 

It takes four miles of running to accomplish that, and by the time he makes it back he realizes that he’s made a wrong turn and ended up in the room that he _used_ to share with Iwaizumi, now being occupied by Hanamaki and Matsukawa. He thuds his head against the door with a long groan because he’s frustrated and sweaty and _tired_ down to his bones.

He doesn’t expect the door to swing open to reveal a yawning Matsukawa, who doesn’t even do Oikawa the favor of looking surprised to see him. He blinks, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye with a shrug. “You can share with Hiro but you have to shower first.”

In return, Oikawa doesn’t point out Matsukawa’s sleepy pet name usage. He smothers a smile instead, ducking under Matsukawa’s arm to go rinse off the sweat sticking to his skin.

(Hanamaki is a clinging octopus, but it _helps_ Oikawa find sleep, rather than keeping him from it.)

* * * 

It takes two days for Iwaizumi to notice the little hitch in Oikawa’s walk.

Not that there’s anything really _wrong_ with him, it’s just that he rolled his ankle while running late again. It’s not even enough that Oikawa would call it a _limp_ , so really, it isn’t a big deal.

Still, it takes Iwaizumi two days to notice it. Oikawa is walking behind him in the mess hall, intending on taking the seat at his right side when Iwaizumi’s head whips up, eyes narrowed. “What’d you do?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that, Iwa-chan,” he sets his tray down, sliding carefully onto the bench so he doesn’t cringe from the soreness of his ankle. Iwaizumi leans back to glare at Oikawa, his brows knit tightly together.

“You’re walking weird. What’d you do?” He frowns with the question, seeming to work it out on his own. “You’re overworking yourself again, aren’t you?”

“No,” Oikawa answers, despite the heat burning at the back of his neck. “I just rolled my ankle. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. And what time of _day_ was it, Oikawa?” Apparently, he doesn’t intend to make this one easy for Oikawa to wiggle his way out of.

“I couldn’t sleep so I went for a run,” he sighs, shrugging his shoulders. Iwaizumi groans.

“Of _course_ you did,” he rubs the heel of his hand into his forehead, and Oikawa can’t help but feel like this is a little different than the other times he’s had Iwaizumi yelling at him. For starters, Iwaizumi isn’t yelling. Instead, he sighs, dropping his hand and frowning at the food in front of him. “Sorry.”

Oikawa isn’t sure if he actually just heard that or not. He resists the urge to pinch himself, or Iwaizumi, or both of them.

There’s been an empty pit in his stomach since he first noticed it with the two of them going back to basics, sparring once a week together. It’s been barely a month, but Oikawa wouldn’t have known he _could_ miss anything the way he misses Iwaizumi now.

“It’s not like it’s your fault,” he sighs, leaning his chin on his hand. “I should have been more careful, I guess.”

“It’s my job to keep you from going too far. It always has been,” Iwaizumi sounds… Oikawa isn’t sure how to describe the tone of his voice, other than the way it makes his chest ache like it’s being slowly hollowed out. “And… I didn’t. So, I’m sorry.”

Iwaizumi is not talking about midnight jogs or rolled ankles. Oikawa is smart enough to figure that out.

“I’ll just have to stick with running indoors,” he pastes on a smile. “No big deal, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi’s frown gets heavier, and Oikawa knows that his grin probably isn’t as convincing as he wants it to be.

He’s saved by Kindaichi taking a seat on Iwaizumi’s other side. He smiles at the both of them, apparently ignorant of the tension settling heavy and thick between them. “You’ve got a new cadet, don’t you Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa nods his head, humming thoughtfully from the back of his throat. Hinata Shouyou is a late transfer from the academy, and Oikawa can see why it took so long for him to make the big time— he has good instincts, the right kind of reflexes and more than anything he _wants_ to be a part of the program, to make an impact on the world around him… 

The problem is that Hinata isn’t particularly good enough of a fighter to make that happen, and so far he hasn’t had much luck with drifting either. Oikawa taps a finger against his chin.

“I think I’m going to try Shrimpy-chan out with Tobio-chan,” he’s been turning this over in the back of his mind for a few days, and really he’s not sure they’ll have any kind of positive outcome. It turns out, from everything that Oikawa has seen, that the two of them can’t stand each other. Iwaizumi snorts, shaking his head.

“You’re not done tormenting Kageyama-kun yet?” He has one eyebrow raised, but he bumps his shoulder against Oikawa’s in a gesture that’s playful in a way that’s almost a surprise.

Oikawa doesn’t let himself stop to think about how it _shouldn’t_ be. He doesn’t want to wonder if they’ve been pulled that far apart from one another. Instead, he gives Iwaizumi a small frown.

“I’m not _tormenting_ him, I’m _teaching_ him.”

Kindaichi chokes on his food in an attempt to keep himself from laughing.

* * * 

It’s not as if their days are ever really _quiet_. Even with all the personal strife that keeps Oikawa’s mind occupied, there’s still a war being fought around the world and he’s still a part of it.

That's why when two kaiju emerge from the Breach, he's one of the three teams sent out to destroy them. The other two are Tacit Ronin and Nova Hyperion, a fact that sits heavily in the hollow space of Oikawa's chest, even if it's not a surprise.

Kuroo is a quiet partner, even in the drift. Oikawa can feel the phantom presence of Kenma lingering as well, the sharp pang of how much Kuroo misses his usual co-pilot. Oikawa gives him a glance and half of a grin. “He comes back next week, right?”

“Four days,” Kuroo nods his head, and he's grinning as well, looking entirely too much like a pleased cat. “Gotta make sure there's a clear path for him.”

Oikawa laughs, nodding his head. He's sure that they both feel the same thing missing, even as they calibrate both hemispheres of Echo Saber. It's comforting, in a strange sort of way, that he's not alone in feeling like there's a piece missing from the center of his chest.

“Alright,” Yahaba's voice is clear as ever, without a mark of fear in it. “All three of you are ready to go— Tacit Ronin, you’re on the big ugly one, codename is Kraken. Echo Saber, the smaller one is yours, codename Phobos.”

“Nova Hyperion, you're to hold the miracle mile. We're seeing about deploying Rampage Oni but the pilot testing hasn't finished yet.”

“Roger,” Oikawa frowns slightly at the orders, looking over at Kuroo with both eyebrows raised. “There's never been two before.”

“They've been getting bigger, too,” Kuroo inclines his head as the helicopters overhead release cords to carry the both of them out to fight. Oikawa can feel words, heavy and familiar resting on his tongue.

He reaches up, pressing the button to broadcast on the channel shared between all three jaegers. “Now remember everyone, I believe in you.”

“Um, thank you, Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi sounds confused.

“Boo!” Hanamaki sounds plain old bored, and Matsukawa speaks right after.

“You need a new catch phrase.”

Kuroo is muffling laughter next to him, and Oikawa deflates with a long sigh. Iwaizumi doesn't say anything. 

 

Echo Saber lands in the water with a hard splash sending waves away from its ankles. Oikawa lets a slow breath rattle out of his lungs, pushing the adrenaline from his veins with it. He can _feel_ Kuroo doing the same before they start running through the water. Echo Saber is lighter and faster than most others that Oikawa has piloted. It fits well enough since the two of them together tend to prefer fighting fast and aggressive.

Phobos is small, at least as far as kaiju go, with glowing pits dotted over its back and a mouth that splits open in three directions to reveal teeth upon teeth. It opens its strange maw to scream at both of them and Oikawa lunges their right arm forward, aiming the blade attached to Echo Saber’s knuckles directly into the soft flesh of its stomach. He turns his wrist, slicing upward before pulling away, watching kaiju blue leak from the shallow cut into the churning ocean around Phobos, staining the water electric and luminescent.

The left and right arms of Echo Saber move more separately than they do together, creating a constant push and pull of small cuts over the body of Phobos. They dance away after each attack, making Phobos turn and thrash more to chase them, landing small scratches along the hull as it tries to get a good enough hold on them.

They’ll make it bleed until it tires enough for a killing blow like they’ve done to the others. Kuroo is grinning— the bright slash of a predator’s smile crossing his face.

And then Phobos rears out of the water, spreading its thin arms wide for balance and opening its maw. A raucous screaming comes out, in a pitch that makes Oikawa’s head throb. There’s the sizzle of electricity around him, the popping of circuits, and by the time it stops Oikawa’s ears are ringing and Echo Saber is silent and still in the water.

Oikawa jerks his arm forward, grunting against the heavy pressure, stopping when Echo Saber fails to move with him. He looks over at Kuroo, blinking his eyes. He can feel something warm and wet dripping down the side of his face, and dizzily he wonders if his brain is leaking out of his ears.

“Well,” his voice is too loud but he can barely hear himself. “I think we’re stuck.”

With Echo Saber apparently not functioning, there’s no way to talk back to LOCCENT, and their drift has already been severed. Outside, Oikawa can hear the loud sound of Phobos circling around them like a shark, the whole jaeger shuddering when one shoulder rubs against them. “We need to do something.”

“Like what?” Kuroo groans, looking over with a frown. His nose is bleeding, running over his chin, but there’s a bright look in his eyes that’s enough to tell Oikawa that they aren’t out of this fight yet.

“Turn Echo back on,” he shrugs, looking around the connpod. “Or get the emergency flares and try to set a kaiju on fire.”

“Those both sound like _terrible_ ideas,” Kuroo groans, detaching himself from the controls and stumbling across the pod. Oikawa does the same, managing to catch himself before he falls. With Phobos only getting closer, their options for coming up with a _not_ terrible plan are fairly thin. “Fuck. Okay, how do we turn it back on?”

Oikawa grins, looking over his shoulder at the wires connecting to the back of the controls, raising both of his eyebrows. “We can pull backup power from the escape pods.”

“So we’d be locked in here?” Kuroo frowns, gripping part of the seat for balance.

“So we’re locked in,” Oikawa shrugs, grabbing a handful of hanging wires when Phobos bumps them again. Kuroo nods his head. “Better do it fast then, Tetsu-chan.”

“When we’re done here we’re having a conversation about that nickname,” Kuroo huffs before pulling several tools out of the bag, pulling himself carefully behind the controls to yank the wires out that have the bright red _Emergency_ marks printed on them. “You know this could get us killed, right?”

“So will doing nothing.” Oikawa leans to peer outside the front of the jaeger, watching the lights of it start to flicker weakly as Kuroo works. “I also know there are people we _both_ need to see again.”

“If this kaiju doesn’t kill me, Kenma might but…” Kuroo hauls himself up just as the mechanics of Echo Saber flicker back to life. “You’re right. I need to see him again.”

“How much power do you think this is going to give us?” Oikawa asks, stepping back onto his hemisphere of the controls and letting it close around him. Kuroo does the same, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Not a lot, a few minutes at most,” he lets out a shaking breath. “Initiating neural handshake.”

The drift is fast and messy, flooding through Oikawa’s mind like a tsunami and ebbing back slowly, leaving a tenuous connection between them. Oikawa reaches up, pressing the comm button. “LOCCENT, can you read? Echo Saber is back online.”

“Maintain position Echo Saber, Nova Hyperion is almost to you,” Yahaba responds, and Oikawa smiles at just how _relieved_ he sounds. “How the hell did you turn it back on?”

“Alternative power supply,” Kuroo responds with a grin, and Oikawa matches it.

Apparently, Echo Saber coming back to life is enough to pull Phobos’ attention away from the loud approach of Nova Hyperion, because it rears back with a scream, lunging for the connpod.

Oikawa lifts an arm to block, and Kuroo does the same. They manage to shove Phobos back, but Oikawa can already feel the strength that they’re lacking due to the weak power supply.

“Ready plasma cannon,” Oikawa commands, resisting the urge to sigh in relief when the right arm actually manages to make the transformation.

“You know that’s gonna be all we’ve got, right?” Kuroo asks, arm still held up to ward back Phobos’ next lunge at them. Oikawa nods.

“Let’s hope it’s all we need.”

Kuroo drops his arm, letting Phobos leap toward them before grabbing at its back, blades sinking in to hold it in place while Oikawa brings the cannon up to its neck.

“Firing!” It’s a shout, it has to be to make it over the sound of the cannon discharging plasma into the kaiju’s neck. One of its arms is still flailing towards them, scoring deep cuts in the hull.

Oikawa manages to rattle off two shots before Echo Saber goes dark again.

“Shit!” Kuroo yelps. One arm is still wrapped around Phobos, trapping them in half a hug that might just end up killing them.

The heavy arm of Nova Hyperion wrenches Phobos free, sending the flailing creature back into the water.

* * * 

They do not return to the base to the tune of _congratulations_. But that’s okay, Oikawa doesn’t really expect any. He stumbles his way out of Echo Saber with a groan, wondering _when_ his ears are going to stop ringing. The marshal is standing at the other end of the bridge looking like a storm waiting to happen and Oikawa pulls his helmet off, trying to wipe some of the half-dried blood away from his ears.

“Pull a stunt like that again,” Ukai snarls at both of them, arms crossed over his chest, “and I’ll send you _both_ off to build that damn wall.”

“Got it,” Kuroo nods, and Oikawa does as well. There’s no point in arguing over it since the plan didn’t really work in their favor this time. Still, they made it out with no damage more than the electrical problems to Echo Saber, and both kaiju down before they managed to reach any of the population.

It might not be a _good_ day, but it’s not a bad one, either.

“I’m showering first,” Kuroo huffs, shouldering past Oikawa. He shrugs his shoulders, laughing softly because he wasn’t planning on going back to their room _anyway_.

 

Iwaizumi finds him fifteen minutes later as he sets his shoes down in the kwoon room. If Ukai was a storm, he’s a hurricane, and Oikawa takes a wary step back. “Iwa-chan!”

“Don’t give me that!” He’s already shouting, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Usually, Oikawa would tease him for it, but even he can sense that this isn’t the time. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What was I supposed to do? We couldn’t just sit there!” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Iwaizumi steps forward, Oikawa steps back. “I was just trying to do my job.”

“You should have _gotten out_ ,” Iwaizumi snaps, frowning when Oikawa keeps backing away from him. “You and Kuroo should have deployed escape pods and let us _finish_ it.”

“I didn’t sign up for this job to run away, Iwa-chan.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” This time, Iwaizumi moves too quickly for Oikawa to evade, and he tenses for the smack upside the head he’s expecting. It doesn’t come— instead, Iwaizumi presses him against the steel wall of the kwoon room, eyes wide and hands tight around Oikawa’s shoulders. “You could have _died_ today, Oikawa. You left yourself with no escape at all, and you could’ve gotten killed for it.”

“Any of us could have died today!” He finds himself yelling in return, even though the two of them are so close together that he can feel the frantic heat of Iwaizumi’s breath across his face. He forces his voice lower, shaking his head. “You can’t be a pilot and _avoid_ taking risks.”

“You don’t _get it_ ,” Iwaizumi snarls, his hands tightening, and Oikawa frowns, shaking his head and making no attempt to put any further space between them.

“What don’t I get? Tell me.” He doesn’t want to be having this fight with Iwaizumi, not now, not after everything they’ve dealt with already. He wants the two of them to be _okay_ again. Like they’re supposed to be.

“I can’t _lose_ you, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi’s voice should never sound so stripped open and raw, like layers peeled back and left for the sun to see for the first time. Oikawa’s ears are ringing again, but he doubts it’s from the kaiju.

“Iwa-chan…?” He sounds distant from his own body, and Iwaizumi’s hands move from his shoulders to cup the sides of Oikawa’s face.

“So you can’t do shit like that again, got it? Because I’m not finishing this without you.”

Oikawa hasn’t felt properly in sync with Iwaizumi since the last time they were able to drift, but now he’s not sure which one of them leans forward first— only that their lips close together at the exact perfect angle. And _there_ is the thing Oikawa has been missing, the thing that fills the empty cavern inside his chest, stuttering in his lungs like they're filling up with water.

He digs his fingers into the thick hair at the back of Iwaizumi's head, desperate to hold him there. It's the closest to _complete_ that he's felt in too long, and he's not willing to let go of it so quickly. It seems that Iwaizumi isn't either because he keeps his hands on either side of Oikawa's jaw, tongue pressing past the barrier of his lips.

Given half a chance, Oikawa would keep them like this forever. He has the feeling in his stomach like just before a drop, like hovering on a precipice and he's not sure what might be on the other side.

Iwaizumi tries to draw back first, only to be chased into another kiss by Oikawa. It's harsher, more confident this time, with Iwaizumi's teeth on Oikawa's lower lip hard enough that Oikawa almost groans at it. They're pressed firmly together against the wall now, and one of Iwaizumi’s legs fits itself between Oikawa's thighs.

He finally manages to pull himself back, breathing heavily with a flush over his face. “You're not screwing with me, are you?”

Oikawa frowns at that, smoothing Iwaizumi’s hair between his fingers. “That's a rude thing to ask right after you kissed me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi leans back, almost managing to pull himself free of Oikawa's grip only to be reeled back in. “Damnit Oikawa! If you're just trying to distract me or something I'm gonna kill you.”

“What do you want me to say, Iwa-chan? That I'm in love with you?” Oikawa sighs, and something in Iwaizumi’s expression falls in a way that's almost tragic. “Because I _am_. But if you're not then it would be embarrassing for me to admit.”

“You have the worst personality,” Iwaizumi sighs, stroking his thumb over the sharp curve of Oikawa’s jaw. “Of course, I'm in love with you, you dumbass.”

Oikawa throws himself into the next kiss so hard that he splits his own lip and knocks both of them to the floor.

* * * 

They don’t get _caught_ making out in the kwoon room so much as they get _found_ because apparently, they’re skipping an important meeting with the marshal. To make out in the kwoon room.

Knowing that they’ll never live down the torment from Hanamaki and Matsukawa _anyway_ , Oikawa gives in and clings Iwaizumi’s hand in his own even after they reach the bridge. There’s an eyebrow-raising gathering assembled— including Kyoutani and Watari from K-science, Yahaba, and Hinata and Kageyama right in the mix of more senior and experienced pilots.

“The double event today wasn’t just a fluke,” Watari begins once they’re all in a loose sort of circle. “If Kyoutani-kun and I are right, there’ll be three of them next, and it’s only going to get worse from there.”

“So, we’re making a run for the Breach,” Ukai cuts in, arms crossed over his chest and a lit cigarette in his hand. It’s the first time Oikawa has ever seen him smoke _during_ an actual meeting. “I hope you two worked whatever your problem was out because I need Grand King on this.”

“And why them?” Oikawa blinks innocently, looking over at Kageyama and Hinata. “It wouldn’t be good to trust a job like this to a pair of rookies.”

“Usually, you’d be right,” Ukai sighs, huffing smoke out of his mouth. “But they’re the only pilots who’ve been able to run Rampage Oni, and it’s our fastest jaeger. I’m strapping the payload to them— you and Tacit Ronin will be running defense.”

“What makes you so sure we’ll be able to get a bomb down there, this time? It’s not like it hasn’t been tried before,” Matsukawa asks, blinking slowly. Hanamaki is still staring at Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s interlaced hands with a grin on his face.

“Kyoutani and Watari figured out how they get out of it,” Ukai grins, an expression that creeps slowly over his face and is only made more sinister by the smoke. “We’re going to ride one right down into it with a bomb.”

* * * 

There’s no way to look at Ukai’s plan and not see the risk that none of them are going to come back from it. Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything about it or explain where Kindaichi has mysteriously vanished to (Oikawa suspects Kunimi is involved with that particular feat, but for once he holds his tongue). Instead, he pulls Oikawa into the small bunk with him, eyes closed, face buried against the sharp angles of his collarbone.

“Are you hiding from me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa laughs softly, petting his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair, relishing in the simple fact that he’s _allowed_ to do so. Iwaizumi shakes his head, the bristles of his hair tickling underneath Oikawa’s chin.

“Tired,” he answers simply, and Oikawa sighs out delicately in return, rubbing his nails into Iwaizumi’s scalp.

“You’re allowed to say that you’re scared,” he grumbles, and Iwaizumi’s arms tighten around his waist. He’s not sure that he’s _ever_ heard Iwaizumi admit to being scared, not of heights, not of drowning in the ocean when a kaiju rips Grand King to pieces. Because it’s one of the things that he does best, Oikawa keeps talking. “It’s okay, you know. There’s a lot to this that could go wrong, including counting on _rookies_ to carry the payload for us.”

“Kageyama will do _fine_ ,” Iwaizumi gripes, and Oikawa rolls his eyes at the clumsy change of subject.

“Of course, he will. He had a _fantastic_ instructor,” he pauses, sliding his hand from Iwaizumi’s hair to the length of his back. “But that’s not the point, is it?”

Iwaizumi groans, lifting his head up and blinking his eyes against the light for a moment. He sighs, hesitates, seems to brood too intently for a moment on what he wants to say before his frowning continues. Oikawa is about to scold him for hurting himself by thinking too hard, but Iwaizumi beats him to it.

“I told you, I can’t lose you,” there're the barest beginnings of a flush on his face, and Oikawa can feel his cheeks warming to match it. Iwaizumi’s hand comes to rest softly on the side of his face, cupping around his jaw and tilting his head slightly upward before they kiss.

And maybe something so new shouldn’t feel so natural, but kissing Iwaizumi comes as second nature as drawing breath into his lungs. Oikawa slides his hands to the back of Iwaizumi's neck, feeling the frantic thudding of his heartbeat. Iwaizumi shifts from lying next to him to kneeling over him instead, a hand on the curve of his hip starting to slide under the loose shirt that Oikawa changed into after showering. 

It's an old one, with a faded logo on the chest. He's not sure at this point if it was originally his own or Iwaizumi's, their clothes have become such a mix over the years that Oikawa is just as used to seeing Iwaizumi in his sweatpants as anything else. Iwaizumi's Grand King jacket is hanging neatly off the corner of the bed like it always was in their shared room in case he needed it, and the sight makes something swell in Oikawa's chest.

Or maybe it's the way Iwaizumi's fingers are stroking the line of his ribs like he's trying to print it in his memory. Oikawa, rather than protest, maps his hands down Iwaizumi's back the same way. It's not as if he could afford to lose Iwaizumi either, and the threat of this mission being _final_ in so many ways hangs over both of them. 

When their lips break apart, Iwaizumi chases a line of kisses down the side of Oikawa's neck, teeth digging the curve of his collarbone with a pressure that's likely just shy of being bruising. Oikawa isn't sure that he'd care who saw it even if Iwaizumi _did_ leave a mark on him.

"Iwa-chan," it falls out of his mouth like a whine when Iwaizumi sits up and pushes his shirt up so he can stare down at Oikawa. It's unnerving, that he can still feel exposed in front of someone who's literally been inside of his head. Neither of them has many scars from fighting, in large part thanks to the protection that the jaeger offers, but there's one Oikawa knows well, a long slash up Iwaizumi's left side, courtesy of a pipe breaking off and scraping him in the middle of a battle once. Oikawa sits up on his elbows, reaching under Iwaizumi's thin tank top to stroke his fingers along the line of it. Sound hisses out between Iwaizumi's teeth, something he bites off and strangles before it becomes anything more than simply an idea. He gathers the mussed hem of Oikawa's shirt in his hands, and Oikawa ducks his head to help with getting it off.

The shirt winds up dropped to the floor, and before Oikawa can say anything about the two of them leaving a mess and possibly burst the bubble of tension that's only growing larger in his stomach, Iwaizumi leans forward again, pressing him into the bed. The soft kisses that fall on each of the moles of his chest take Oikawa by surprise and make him muffle a giggle. "Iwa-chan is being sentimental."

"Shut up," Iwaizumi growls in return, nipping the swell of Oikawa's shoulder to literally add teeth to his words. "Don't call me that while we're doing _this_."

Oikawa's laughter trails off, turning his head to the side to catch the shell of Iwaizumi's ear in a quick bite. "Do you want me to start calling you _Hajime_?"

He means the question as a joke but Iwaizumi draws in a sharp breath that more than answers his question. And well, it's not like he can just be expected to leave something like that _alone_.

"Hajime," he draws each syllable out on his tongue, tastes each one as it rolls out of his mouth. Iwaizumi's hips shift, and oh, Oikawa didn't expect him to enjoy it _that_ much. He grins, pressing kisses along the side of Iwaizumi's face, to the top of his neck. " _Hajime_."

Iwaizumi claps a hand over his mouth with a glare, apparently not troubled by the fact that his erection is pressing obscenely into Oikawa's thigh. "Quit it."

In retaliation, Oikawa shifts his leg to rub his thigh against Iwaizumi, raising both of his eyebrows exaggeratedly. Iwaizumi's jaw clenches but Oikawa knows him well enough to be able to see that the emotion on his face isn't _anger_. Not that he's spent _much_ time wondering what lust or pleasure would look like on Iwaizumi.

His lips are slightly parted, and he rolls his hips back against Oikawa's leg with a stuttering groan, the hand planted on the bed to help him balance curls into a fist with the sheets trapped in it. " _Fuck_."

As encouraging a response as that is, Oikawa still only tucks his thumb into the waist of Iwaizumi's sweats, glad when the hand finally lifts away from his mouth. There's a flush on the back of Iwaizumi's neck when he looks down at the tangle of their legs, and Oikawa resists the urge to pepper it with kisses. And as much delight as there is to tormenting Iwaizumi for being so excited, Oikawa's not in any better state himself. Iwaizumi stares for a moment until Oikawa clears his throat weakly. "Are you sure you want to..."

"Yeah," Iwaizumi answers, almost too quickly, tongue poking out to wet his lips again. "I'm sure."

Oikawa nods his head in return, sliding his hand past the hem of Iwaizumi's sweats to stroke the hard line of his cock through his boxers, feeling where the tip has just started to dampen the fabric. The breath that puffs too hard out of Iwaizumi's lungs in response feels like a reward, and when rubbing his thumb against the head nets him a groan, Oikawa grows bolder, ducking his fingers through the window in the front of his boxers to wrap his hand around Iwaizumi's cock properly. It's heavy in his hand, skin warm against his palm, and when Iwaizumi's hips hitch forward slightly in search of friction, Oikawa tightens his loose grip, pumping his hand slowly.

Iwaizumi groans again, his head resting in the middle of Oikawa's chest, one of his hands snaking down to press his palm against Oikawa's cock in return, only shifting lower to cup his ass, giving it a squeeze. Oikawa yips in surprise, trying to cover it with a laugh. "How forward of you."

"I don't suppose you or Kindaichi-chan have any lube on hand," he tries and fails not to sound bitter, but Iwaizumi merely chuckles at him, pulling his hand back to sit up. Reluctantly, Oikawa slides his own back as well to let him, though he can see the flinch of Iwaizumi's muscles at the loss.

He reaches an arm past Oikawa’s head, digging for a moment before producing a small bottle of lube that definitely looks like it’s been used before. Oikawa opens his mouth, only to be stopped by Iwaizumi glaring at him. “Do not say anything.”

Oikawa wrinkles his nose but bites down on the dozens of questions that leap into his mouth, letting his legs spread for Iwaizumi to settle between them instead. He arches his hips up, letting Iwaizumi shimmy his pants and his boxers down his legs. He leans forward immediately, pressing kisses against the insides of Oikawa’s thighs, a distraction from the plasticky click of the bottle in his hand opening.

Still, it would be hard _not_ to notice one of his fingers coming to press cool and slick against Oikawa’s entrance. He makes a surprised sound that turns into a groan with the slow massaging of Iwaizumi’s finger before he slides it in. Oikawa’s muscles tense against the intrusion until he breathes out slowly, forcing himself to relax.

It’s easy to remember how badly he wants this. He wants to _only_ think about it, to drown himself in all the love that Iwaizumi seems so able to give him. He doesn’t want to think about tomorrow, about the very real chance that they may not be coming back _together_.

Oikawa wants more than a single first time and last time, where Iwaizumi is concerned.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi’s voice is low and gruff and usually, that would be doing all kinds of _wonderful_ things for Oikawa, but there’s something that feels like it’s caught in his throat and it’s drowning him all on its own. “Oi— Tooru, what’s wrong?”

Iwaizumi’s hand pulls away from him in a way that just feels slick and strange and it’s only then that Oikawa notices that there are tears welling up in his eyes, which is _really_ embarrassing, given the current situation and only leads to Iwaizumi fretting over him. “Shit, shit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Oikawa shakes his head quickly, too quickly, the abrupt motion makes his neck ache, but he reaches out, grabbing hold of whatever parts of Iwaizumi he can reach. Iwaizumi goes easily, arm winding around him in return. Oikawa sniffles, trying to swallow the tears down again. “Sorry. No, I’m just…”

He trails off, sucking a shaking breath into his lungs that're only slightly eased by Iwaizum’s thumb rubbing small circles into his thighs. “I’m just scared… about— all of it.”

Oikawa shakes his head, not sure if he can explain any better than that, and Iwaizumi breathes out a sigh that sounds a little like relief. He presses his forehead against Oikawa’s, making a small shushing noise as he does. “You’re not going to lose me.”

“You don’t know that,” Oikawa doesn’t mean to sound sullen when he says it, but his voice is thick and Iwaizumi snorts, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“I’m going to make sure of it,” and he does manage to sound sure, more than Oikawa has ever been able to, and he tilts his chin to kiss Iwaizumi properly in return, nails sliding down his shoulders because he _wants_ to believe in it, he wants to have Iwaizumi so close to him that he never has to let go again.

Iwaizumi gets the hint without Oikawa having to explain, because, after a moment of stroking Oikawa’s tongue with his own, his finger returns to pressing its way gently against Oikawa’s rim, sliding in slowly. Oikawa is more relaxed this time, focusing instead on nipping tiny pink marks on the tanned skin of Iwaizumi’s neck, tracing one finger around the lines of the tattoo on his shoulder.

“You’re not getting a Nova Hyperion one, are you?” He laughs, as weak as it is, and Iwaizumi snorts, rolling his eyes even as he spreads more lube between his finger, preparing to press the second one inside of Oikawa.

“Kindaichi is scared of needles,” he answers, mouthing at the hollow of Oikawa’s throat as his finger slides in. This time, it feels more good than strange and Oikawa arches his hips forward into the stretch, a little groan making its way past his lips. Iwaizumi makes a pleased noise in return, scissoring his fingers apart and stretching Oikawa further.

They curl and press inside of him and Oikawa pulls a heavy breath into his lungs before Iwaizumi even finds what he’s looking for, and it all rattles out of him in a single gust when Iwaizumi’s fingers press his prostate. He doesn’t linger on teasing it, instead drawing his fingers back to press in a third.

It’s hard to begrudge him the impatience when the tension is pulling Oikawa’s muscles so taut that he just might shatter apart of this takes any longer. He only manages to wait through a few slow strokes of all three of Iwaizumi’s fingers inside of him before he’s whimpering and shaking his head. “Iwa-chan— _Hajime_. I’m ready, please.”

Iwaizumi growls in the back of his throat. He pulls his fingers out, and Oikawa bites down on another whine at the sudden emptiness— his dignity has already taken enough of a battering for the day. Iwaizumi’s sweats end up shoved halfway down his legs, left to tangle around his knees in eagerness and impatience. 

He hauls Oikawa’s hips closer, dragging him across the sheets like it takes no strength at all, and Oikawa is gasping at that as much as he is the blunt press of Iwaizumi’s cock against his spread hole. He slides in slowly, and Oikawa strokes both hands through his hair, letting his hips writhe against the bed when Iwaizumi finally slides all the way inside of him.

“You’re so damn tight,” Iwaizumi groans, in a way that’s almost _offended_. He draws his hips back slowly, and Oikawa lifts his legs to lock his ankles behind Iwaizumi’s back. Iwaizumi doesn’t lift away from him. He lets Oikawa cling as close as he wants to, grabbing one of his hands and lacing their fingers tightly together.

Iwaizumi fucks him slow, a pace that’s solid and unrelenting and every thrust pushes little hiccups out of Oikawa’s lungs. He’s sure neither of them are going to last long— like a wire pulled too tight, a rope with a fraying final thread. The hand Iwaizumi has free wraps around Oikawa’s cock, thumb gathering the precome leaving a slick trail on his stomach and spreading it to allow him to pump his hand at the same rhythm as his hips.

Oikawa’s back bows so sharply he can barely feel the sheets underneath him, mouth open around something that’s meant to be _Hajime_ but breaks in the center. Iwaizumi follows just after him, his body folding around Oikawa’s, clinging him closer despite the sweat lining his chest, Oikawa’s come smearing between them. 

They both manage to ignore it, Iwaizumi pressing his face into the softness of Oikawa’s hair until his breathing evens out. Oikawa doesn’t say anything more about being scared, just presses his ear to Iwaizumi’s chest to hear the beating of his heart and closes his eyes.

The rest he leaves for the morning.

* * * 

Oikawa has never taken a jaeger entirely underwater before.

He’s never wanted to, and even though he doesn’t say anything about it the sight of water crushing down on them from all sides makes his stomach churn. Iwaizumi must feel it, a tense nerve in the connection of their drift, because he glances over at Oikawa, only pulling his eyes away from the windows for a moment.

“We’re gonna be fine. Relax,” it’s a gentle chiding, an awareness of the fear Oikawa is staring down at the moment. He releases a shaking breath, staring through the murky blue ocean in front of them.

“I’m fine,” he answers, more to assure himself than to try and convince Iwaizumi. Tacit Ronin is a shadowy figure in the gloom to their right, and Rampage Oni is behind them, waiting for the kaiju to make contact. 

The plan depends on them being able to kill at least one of them and prevent Rampage Oni from taking too much damage to be able to destroy the payload.

So, simple really. Just accomplish something impossible on top of something else more impossible, while trusting your future to a pair of boys who’ve never seen combat before. Just the thought makes a wild, scared giggle bubble out of Oikawa’s mouth, and he can taste the hysteria in it.

Iwaizumi’s mouth opens to tell him to _relax_ again, but he’s cut off by Yahaba. “Getting movement on your left, Grand King.”

Iwaizumi turns slightly, the lights on the front of the jaeger scanning through the water, illuminating the thick darkness around them. “We’re not getting anything, LOCCENT.”

“I think it’s moving too quickly,” Hanamaki responds. “I’m not getting anything.”

“Shit,” Iwaizumi grunts, turning them forward. “Any sign of it, LOCCENT?”

“Not getting a read…” Yahaba’s voice trails off slowly, and Oikawa has to suddenly adjust and brace his weight when something _heavy_ rams against the side of them. And well, it’s not as if Oikawa thinks it’s a _shark_ , even if the kaiju vaguely resembles one with its pointed nose and teeth that hang in rows inside of its mouth. When they find their balance again, Iwaizumi swings a hand through the water, catching one of the kaiju's long limbs.

“Deploying chain sword,” Oikawa commands, hitting the button before Iwaizumi can so much as voice the direction. He swings through the water, hoping he’ll have the force to lop the limb clean off.

They aren’t that lucky, though, of course, they aren’t. The sword gets stuck, embedded in the bones of the monster, creaking dangerously as it tries to wiggle its way free. 

Being trapped under the ocean is much what Oikawa pictures fighting something in space would be like, and so they can’t hear the second kaiju that comes swimming behind them until there are claws sinking into the shoulders of Grand King, thrashing and tearing at whatever machinery it can get at.

“Get this thing off of us,” Iwaizumi snarls into the open channel, gripping his fist tighter in an attempt to hold the first kaiju steady. Yarada, or at least that’s what Yahaba had called it when they deployed. There’s no sound underneath the water that signals the approach of Tacit Ronin, only the weight being suddenly lifted off their back.

Oikawa saws the right arm back and forth sharply twice, and suddenly the fin of Yarada comes free in Iwaizumi’s hand. The kaiju squirms away through the water, leaving a trail of electric blue behind it.

“Where’s the third?” Oikawa asks, his voice sounding too hushed over the din of battle that he’s used to. Behind them, Tacit Ronin is busy with the job of slicing the other kaiju, Orcus, to ribbons. Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“Don’t know, but we’re four clicks out from the breach. Let’s just get them there,” he sighs, and even he doesn’t sound convinced by what he’s saying. The drift between them is alive, sparking and hissing with adrenaline and fear. Through it all, though, Iwaizumi is a solid presence, an anchor that keeps Oikawa from getting too swept away, too focused on too many moving parts.

They work that way, they always have.

“Alright, Rampage I need you to follow us as close as you can,” Iwaizumi commands, and the ‘roger’ he gets in return from both Kageyama and Hinata sounds more convicted than Oikawa would have expected from the two of them.

On the radar to Oikawa’s right, he can see the small red dot that represents Rampage Oni start moving after them, and they press onward toward the breach. Yarada’s blood has already been turned into bright blue wisps by the slow flow of waves around them, and they’re left to try and track it visually.

Oikawa hasn’t forgotten that they have to _kill_ a kaiju for this plan to work, he’d just rather not have to _drag_ it all the way there, if they can help it.

“Two clicks,” Iwaizumi says, and _finally_ Hanamaki’s voice breaks over the comm line.

“Thanks for leaving us all the heavy lifting,” he sounds as entertained as ever, though, and Oikawa doesn’t really feel all that bad about it.

He can see the molten, yawning mouth of the Breach, and the kaiju that’s sitting on top of it. It’s squat, with six crab-like legs beneath it and eyes attached to stalks that swivel like periscopes. They stop, locking on when they see the pair of jaeger.

It doesn’t move toward them, however. Instead, it stamps one pointed leg on the ground over and over, with nothing that Oikawa would call rhythm. But, from the gloom comes Yarada, swimming as quickly as it can with just three limbs instead of four.

This time, it crashes directly into the head of the Grand King, teeth gnashing and causing tiny fractures in the glass of the connpod. The sword still deployed, Oikawa stabs it upward into the stomach of Yarada, piercing deep into the soft flesh of it.

The kaiju screams but doesn’t release, and Oikawa wrenches his arm forward, elongating the cut and making kaiju blue flood into the water. The glass under the teeth begin to crack, and water starts to leak into the connpod from above. Oikawa’s breath comes in harsh and shallow, but he forces himself not to lose focus. He stabs upwards again once more, twisting his wrist and cutting sideways.

Rampage Oni and Tacit Ronin have engaged the third kaiju by the time Yarada bites down on them for a final time, causing water to pour unchecked into the space of the connpod when Iwaizumi rips it away from them.

“Grand King deploy escape pods,” Yahaba’s voice is quick. Oikawa closes his eyes, immersing himself in the blue of the drift and trying not to think of the cold water wrapping all the way around his waist. Iwaizumi must hit the command to deploy both of them, because Oikawa’s seat lifts and tilts backward, the pod coming down to encase him.

As soon as it blasts out of the shattered connpod of Grand King, Oikawa knows something is wrong. He doesn’t feel like he’s shooting toward the surface but instead being eddied there slowly by the buoys attached to the bottom. There’s a window, and all he can see through it is the endless blue of the ocean preparing to swallow him up.

He bangs his fists on the metal casing of the pod, not sure that he can even hear _himself_ screaming. He squeezes his eyes shut, sucking shallow, panicked breaths into his lungs.

It’s not so much that he feels the blast of the bomb itself, but the shove of water that lifts him to the surface is palpable, and when he opens his eyes it’s to the blue of the sky and the slow drift of clouds overhead. The pod lurches once more, and Oikawa shouts, wondering if he’s going to be dragged back into the ocean.

Instead, the steel casing flies off and Iwaizumi’s hands reach in to help him sit up, rubbing his back, voice loud. “Tooru— are you okay?”

“Y- yeah, I’m fine. The propulsion was shoddy,” he can hear his own voice trembling like it’s liable to break, but Iwaizumi clutches him tight to his chest and _laughs_ , light in a way that Oikawa hasn’t heard it in years.

“They did it,” he peels Oikawa’s helmet off, tossing his own to the side as well and leaning their foreheads together. His hand is slippery and cool on the side of Oikawa’s face but it doesn’t matter, he leans into the salty taste of the kiss anyway, leaving their foreheads touching because with his eyes closed he can still feel the steady touch of Iwaizumi’s mind against his own.

There’s a lurch in the water that could only be the two jaegers moving toward the surface again, and Oikawa throws his head back and laughs as well.

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Kie for beta-ing this, and for listening to me scream about it every step of the way. I would be utterly and entirely lost without them.


End file.
